


Window Seat

by halo_dean



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Middle School, Bullying, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, John Laurens: tales from the closet (the novel), M/M, Past Relationship(s), Poetry, Secret Relationship, Stupid jock nonsense, Underage Kissing, Underage Smoking, and started talking shit about Alex which u know., how do i still suck at tagging ffs, left everyone deeply emotionally scarred and fuLL OF ANGER, so basically Alex and John were a thing in the final year of middle school, until something bad happened and John immediately broke it off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 19:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12777924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halo_dean/pseuds/halo_dean
Summary: Now that Alex was standing here in the aisle, students milling around him as he watched Laurens doze in the window seat, it actually seemed like a good idea to sit next to this guy, who had once not stopped his friends from ripping Alex’ favorite book apart in middle school and used to laugh along when people tripped and fell on the running track in PE. Who had said so many horrible things about Alex just to get out of a bad situation himself. No, maybe Laurens wasn't a particularly good human being. But maybe some part of Alex just still hoped he’d change.That maybe, he had.Alex couldn’t believe he was actually considering this, but now, Gilbert was approaching him, still shouting his name, and so he shot his friend a brief nervous smile before dropping himself on the seat next to Laurens and sliding into it so deep that he knew his head disappeared behind the tall, worn headrest.(Sorry guys, but this story is discontinued for now!!!!)





	Window Seat

**Author's Note:**

> HEY Y'ALL  
> I'M BACK  
> WELL NOT REALLY THIS MIGHT JUST BE A ONE SHOT SORT OF BUT WE'LL SEE HOW IT GOES BC I DO HAVE A STORY BUT IT'S NOT OUTLINED YET EITHER WAY NOBODY DIES SO THAT'S GOOD
> 
> ANYWAY  
> First of all, I would like to apologize for how *hellishly* long it's been? Like, I know that I said it was going to be only one month and that now it's almost December? But I can explain!!
> 
> Firstly, school is literally HELL. Like actual fucking hell bc there's people and expectations and so much noise and stuff u know, and I just can't really focus on anything BECAUSE (secondly) I'm currently or have been for the past months in probably the worst mental state in quite a while (as some of u might know from looking at my tumblr. sorry about that). Not going to go too much into detail about it, but long story short I couldn't really sleep, focus on anything, talk to people, function in general, get out of bed, get through my days, study, WRITE (like seriously I haven't really done anything since I finished Brooklyn Flowers, which has been driving me completely insane??) (but ohh I haven't actually told anyone this? I'm very likely going to get therapy, hopefully soon, and I'll hopefully get better and get to write more again)  
> so you know. same old same old. sorry about that.
> 
> Also, I did post that one thing for John's birthday but idk I didn't like it that much and I was having a horrible day/week so I deleted it again? Let me know if anyone's interested in seeing it back up I might edit (ANYONE WANNA BETA SOME SMUT BC I AM HELPLESS) and repost it?
> 
> Alsooo, I was asked multiple times for a sequel to Brooklyn Flowers? I don't really have anything planned plus I'm currently working on a lot of probably smaller projects, I don't know if I'll find some time? But PLEASE guys if you have any ideas/POV's that you'd like to see more of, or pairings in the verse, let me know, I'm open to suggestions (like seriously. If you want something done please ask me about it because otherwise I'll never get around to doing it fml) 
> 
> so yeh, I was in a pretty horrible slump but now emERGING NOW BC I REALLY WANNA DO SOMETHING  
> And this is what I came up with.
> 
> So, we read a text in my English class called 'I go along' by Richard Peck which talks about peer pressure and the differences between existing as an individual and existing in a group and that was pretty cool (really nice and poetic see if u can find it somewhere it was surprisingly good considering the fact that it was printed into a German English book for 10th graders yikes) and we got an assignment to rewrite the text from another character's, the main character's love interest, Sharon's perspective. We were actually supposed to write about 200 words since it was just homework, but me, being the nerd I am and being sort of starved for something to write that didn't require the effort writing usually does require, wrote 2.5k on seven pages, keeping only the dialogue from the original story. So yeh. I figured I kind of had to do something with that.
> 
> The characterization of Gene (the main) and Sharon (the love interest) really reminded me of John and Alex, so I decided to rewrite the thing again and make it a *short* Lams fic, but since we all know how good I am at short things (just gonna casually put out there that Brooklyn Flowers was originally supposed to be a thing of six chapters. Rachel didn't even die in the first draft of my concept, so hate mail for making you suffer so much goes to my past self for wanting to keep writing after Alex and John got together lmao) and since I’m currently, in the process of writing, realizing that I have a pretty nice fucking plot right here, we'll just see how it goes, aka how long this gets. 
> 
> Once more, a smol disclaimer: this work was largely inspired by Richard Peck's 'I go along', so. Just so nobody will sue me or something. (Please don't do that I can't afford a lawyer I've been broke since August.)
> 
> So. Guess I'm back ^^'  
> I'll leave you to it now, and as always, I hope you enjoy reading!

_November 15 th, 2017_  
  
Alex didn’t really know what to think of him.  
  
His first thought when he saw him was _what a pretentious idiot. Thinks he’s so cool, way too cool for all us nerds from the advanced class. Look at you, Laurens. Look at your bomber jacket and the goddamn cigarette behind your ear. Look at your cap. Look at you and your cap. So cool._  
  
Alex knew that literature studies and poetry readings might not seem interesting to someone who wasn’t in advanced class, but what the fuck was Laurens doing here if he wasn’t interested in it at all? _Nobody’s forcing you to be here, asshole. Probably._ _Maybe he’s here on detention. He seems the type._ _But if not, then – why is he here?_  
  
Laurens, who used to be quarterback and dickhead and insanely popular in middle school and was definitely still way too cool to be here in this bus driving Alex and his classmates to a poetry reading _– a poetry reading, for fuck’s sake_ – now in high school, was sitting in the fourth row, alone in a window seat, his eyes closed against the sun spilling into his face despite his _super cool_ cap that he had pulled deep into his eyes to shade them from the hazy, deep-set afternoon sunlight. His hand was lazily propped up against the side of his face, supporting this whole stupid picture that Alex hated to admit was actually kind of doing it for him.  
  
Laurens’ knee was jammed up against the seat in front of him. Alex had overheard the girl in front of him quietly complaining about the way he was sprawled in his seat, his shin pressing painfully into her back, and unfortunately, like many things in life, it had caught Alex’ attention, and now he was pausing in the aisle next to Laurens’ seat, much to his classmates’ displeasure as they pushed past him, struggling to find free seats as close as possible to their friends. None of them wanted to sit alone – Laurens, on the other hand, obviously did.  
  
Alex heard Gilbert shouting his name from the back of the bus, saw him, Maria and Thomas waving enthusiastically from the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t bring himself to move and meet them. They had been sort of annoying him with their conversation and general loudness all day long anyway.  
  
Now that Alex was standing here in the aisle, students milling around him as he watched Laurens doze in the window seat, it actually seemed like a good idea to sit next to this guy, who had once not stopped his peers from ripping Alex’ favorite book apart in middle school and used to laugh along when someone tripped and fell on the running track in PE. Who had said so many horrible things about Alex just to get out of a bad situation himself.  
  
_Maybe some part of me just still hopes he’ll change._  
  
Maybe he has.  
  
Alex couldn’t believe he was actually considering this, but now, Thomas was approaching him, cheering his name, and so he shot his friend a brief nervous smile before dropping himself on the seat next to Laurens and sliding into it so deep that his head disappeared behind the tall, worn headrest.  
  
Laurens didn’t even look up, and so Alex took the chance to look at him once more, to eye the line of his neck where his forehead was leaned against the window.  
  
He was still in Alex’ year, he’d seen him around a couple of times, but contrary to his huge group of peers and admirers he’d had in middle school, Laurens didn’t actually have any friends now. He wasn’t someone who got bullied, either, though; he was one of those people in the middle of the spectrum, the ones that faded into the wall effortlessly, that got left alone in every sense of the word.  
  
Alex had once known this guy very well. He had once been the first one Laurens looked for on the stands of the football pitch with a huge grin on his face after winning a game and the person whose arms he slept in when his father had gotten angry again, thrown him out in the middle of the night. Laurens had once called Alex silly nicknames, and Alex had once called Laurens ‘John’. But that was three years ago, and they hadn’t spoken a lot since. At first, when Alex had been so angry he was afraid he would punch John if they spoke, they didn’t even get near each other.  
  
Three years had passed without a word exchanged, and now, to be honest, Alex didn’t know a lot about Laurens. Except that he looked like he didn’t give a damn about where he was right now.  
  
So it was only understandable that Alex’ heart was pounding in his throat while he let his backpack slide to the floor and dug through it for his phone and in-ears and felt Laurens flinch in his seat before he even came back up again.  
  
Alex lifted his head, anxious, and found Laurens already staring at him out of wide eyes. _Familiar_ , wide eyes. Their thighs were brushing a little in the eats and, probably even unconsciously, Alex put a little distance between them as he held Laurens’ gaze.  
  
“Okay?” he gritted out, irritated, gesturing vaguely at himself sitting next to Laurens. Laurens stared some more, until it was starting to get a little awkward. Then, he finally blinked and turned away towards the window.  
  
“Whatever.” Alex heard him mutter, and suddenly, he could breathe again. Could breathe the dry air of the bus and the scent of smoke and cold coming from Laurens’ jacket. He smelled like the fields outside the bus window looked: green and brown, yellow with the last leaves of autumn still sitting in the skeletons of trees, patches of the first snow shining in the fields. November was so clear, but so depressing, and Laurens smelled so _good_ , and Alex was already starting to regret his decision to sit next to him.  
  
Alex shifted in his seat uncomfortably and reached down into his backpack to pull his notebook out or just to have something to keep his hands occupied with, and his thigh bumped against Laurens’, and Alex felt like he’d been electrocuted. _Again_.  
  
He frowned to himself, cursing in his head and felt Laurens’ eyes on him.  
  
Alex didn’t know what to do with it. He had no idea, and he was getting flustered, so he just sat back up straight without his notebook – _fucking slipped to the bottom of the bag again, that piece of shit_ – and brushed strands of hair that had fallen out of his ponytail away from his forehead.  
  
_Laurens used to have long hair, too. He’d keep it in a bun, and sometimes, he’d forget pencils in it._  
  
Sometimes, Alex really hated himself.  
  
He sighed sharply, pushed his shoulders back against the cushions of the seat and glanced at Laurens from the corner of his eye. The other boy had turned his head back towards the window, pointedly not looking at Alex, and blinked, long, dark lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks when Alex lifted his voice again.  
  
“So, what’s up, Laurens? How are you doing?” he asked carefully, trying to keep his tone polite and distant, nonchalant, realized that he sounded like his foster father, like someone very old trying to keep up with the kids, and cringed.  
  
Laurens’ eyes narrowed, and he didn’t move, and after a beat of breathless silence, he murmured: “’M fine, Hamilton. Let’s not make this more awkward than it has to be, alright?” and turned even further away from Alex. They fell silent after that, and Alex, staring at his lap, wondered how Laurens thought they could make it any more awkward anyway. After a beat reaching for his backpack after all, and getting out his phone, headphones and – laboriously – notepad. He held it in his lap, fumbling with the pen, and his in-ears, and waiting for something to happen. _Praying_ for something to happen.  
  
Something did happen. Laurens cleared his throat, and pointed at the notebook in Alex’ lap. “Do you, uh…” – another clear of his throat – “do you have to take notes? The ones from the advanced class, do you have to take notes?” he managed, and Alex felt a slight pang in his chest, because yes, they did have to take notes, but Laurens knew he would have taken a notebook anyway, because he was Alex. He took one everywhere. He always had, and Laurens knew it because Laurens had seen it.  
  
Because Laurens had fallen asleep with his school tie loosened on a hundred late pre-summer afternoon, a sleepy smile on his face and his head on Alex’ stomach while Alex sat propped up against a tree in the apple orchard they always used to visit, the notebook open as he scribbled sentence after sentence down in it. Laurens had seen it a hundred times, and Alex’ chest shouldn’t be aching like this.  
  
“Yes. We have to write about it in class tomorrow. Our impressions.” He murmured, watching Laurens nod slowly. He had taken his cap off, was fidgeting with it, and underneath, his hair was short and trimmed at the sides and long and curly at the top, still the kind of brown that looked pretty mediocre most of the time but turned into copper and fire the second it got out into the sun.  
  
It fell over his forehead and into his eyes, a little messy where it had been pushed back until now, and Alex lowkey wanted to reach out and brush it back, but there were boundaries. There were very clear boundaries Laurens had set three years ago. And Alex wasn’t one to outstep his welcome, especially when Laurens was so obviously over what had happened.  
  
So he didn’t, but he decided that he should definitely stop thinking about touching Laurens’ hair now. Laurens was still nodding softly, his wide lips pressed tightly together, and Alex nodded, as well, and the silence returned.  
  
They let it. They didn’t bother trying to make it go away anymore, because it started not being the bad kind of silence anymore, not the kind that was tense and tenacious like old chewing gum, that ate away at your insides until one of you couldn’t take it anymore and managed to stammer an awkward sentence about the weather or school, and you forced yourselves to talk a little before it came back once more.  
Not that kind of silence, but the kind that felt like weekend mornings and clouds. The kind you didn’t mind staying, the kind you actually kind of wanted to linger a little longer.  
  
In the old days, Alex and Laurens had been good at silence and conversation all the same. It was so easy, all so easy and so perfect. Of course, they’d had small disagreements, everyone had those, but they had always settled it in the end. And then, everything was good again.  
  
They had been so good at it all, so good at that game. They’d _gotten_ so good at it. It was still kind of a mystery to Alex how they’d ended up all without it. Because it had been so good, in the old days.  
  
The bus was rolling across fields and through sleepy small towns that looked just like Albany where they came from, and they were silent, Laurens looking out of the window and Alex chasing after his own thoughts and looking at Laurens longingly and hoping the other boy didn’t notice.  
  
It all stayed like that for a while, and Alex relaxed a little in his seat, letting his knee bump against Laurens’. Laurens pulled away. Not that that came as a surprise to Alex. He didn’t have much time to think about it, though, because Gilbert approached their seats and leaned over Alex, giving Laurens a polite smile and then beaming at Alex.  
  
“Alexander, are you coming to the back? We saved you a seat?” he said, voice hushed. He was facing Alex, but his eyes kept slipping to Laurens, who paid him no mind. Alex knew what Gil was thinking. He was asking himself why Alex was sitting with _John Laurens_ , of all people, the guy who had broken his heart only a couple of years back, even though his best friends had saved him a seat.  
  
Alex looked up at him, a little reluctant to meet his gaze and leave the bubble he was sharing with Laurens. He looked at Gilbert, and considered his offer, and felt Laurens’ eyes on the back of his head, and so for some reason, he found himself shaking his head.  
  
“Thanks, but no, Laf. I’m fine where I am,” he finally replied, and Gilbert lingered for another second, arching an eyebrow to double-check if he was serious, and then, when Alex didn’t move an inch, left with a shrug and a frown.  
  
When Alex turned back around in his seat, stifling a small sigh, he found Laurens watching him. Eyeing him. Trying to get behind what the actual fuck Alex was doing.  
  
And even if he wanted to, Alex didn’t know if he could explain it to him.  
  
At some point, the bus approached the campus of Princeton College where the reading Alex’ teacher was taking their class was, and everyone started getting out of their seats noisily and laboriously, yelling across the bus over each other’s heads, demanding to know who wanted to sit next to whom at the reading.  
  
Nobody asked Alex to sit next to them, but he knew Gilbert, Maria and Thomas would want to. He could already see his friends approaching them again, and so he chewed on his lower lip, weighing his options. He turned in his seat, facing Laurens, who was staring at his lap with a soft frown on his face. _Probably still trying to decipher what’s going on. Or, wait. I think he’s looking at his phone. Oh well._  
  
Alex took a breath and nudged Laurens’ side, causing him to flinch and look up at him.  
  
“Do you want to sit together? At the reading? Because- well, you’re the only one not from advanced class here, and-“ he left off, biting his tongue and cursing how shaky his voice was. Why was he so nervous?  
  
Laurens just stared at him for a moment, his expression shifting from a sort of hostile _Yeah, sure, just go ahead and rub into my face that I’m not as smart as everyone else here_ into something simply confused. He wasn’t blinking, as if he was trying to decipher why Alex would ever want to sit next to him after what had happened. Like Alex knew. He didn’t even know why he’d asked, himself. Probably just because he didn’t feel like talking. To Thomas, at least. And Laurens, who used to talk so much, seemed to have become a quieter person, which Alex could really appreciate right now.  
  
Finally, Laurens broke away, ran a hand through his hair and looked at his knees. “Uh… look no offense, but don’t you want to sit with your people? Go ahead, I can- I’ll find someone.” _Or just sit alone_. It went unsaid, but it hung in the air, heavily, and Alex couldn’t stand the image. He couldn’t have John sitting alone at the reading, and so he nudged his side again, this time just for reassurance and in a small, yearning need for contact.  
  
“No, fuck that. I sit with them all day long. And like, I mean, Maria’s amazing, and Laf is adorable, but Thomas just- talks too damn much. And I don’t really want to talk right now, so… you and your quiet will be good company.” Alex tried for a smile, a shy one, and John surprise him with a low laugh and a shy smile back.  
  
“They talk too much? That’s some character development right there, Hamilton.” His smile turned into a grin when Alex, giddy, high off John’s smile, rolled his eyes with an open-mouthed grin.  
  
“You better shut up. And actually, I’m Alexander _Washington_ now, so, joke’s on you.” He grinned when John rolled his eyes, grinning at the bus’s low ceiling. “Are you _kidding_? Another family? How do you keep making them throw you out?”  
  
“Guess I’m just that annoying,” Alex shrugged, as his mind hissed _what are you doing. What are you doing, stop telling him stuff, stop looking at him, stop talking to him, stop feeling comfortable around him. You’re not supposed to be comfortable around him. He’s the worst, stop the banter._  
  
John pulled a face, a glint in his eye, and opened his mouth to speak, _possibly deny that I’m annoying_ , _hopefully to say that the foster families that gave me away so far just didn’t realize how lucky they were_ , but was interrupted when the bus stopped abruptly, the people in the aisle swaying, and Alex was relieved he hadn’t gotten around to finishing that sentence. He silenced the two arguing parts of his brain as his classmates started chattering, milling off the bus, grabbed his backpack and stood, joining them hastily to get away from Laurens’ uncomfortably warm look. He didn’t have to turn around to know the other boy was following him.  
  
They followed the teacher across the unfamiliar, a little snowed-in campus to the gym. Alex and Laurens trailed after the group lazily, Laurens kicking patches of snow as they passed. If he noticed Alex watching him, he didn’t say anything. In fact, he said nothing at all, which was exactly what Alex had hoped would happen.  
  
He could hear Laf and Maria laughing and he was weirdly happy not to be with the right now. It was quiet back here, and Alex could try and forget about Laurens’ unfinished sentence about his mother, could distract himself by wondering what the poetry reading would be like in peace. He got to think about what the poet would look like, and what his poetry would sound like; if it would sound like the German baroque poems they were constantly forced to read in class, or more modern. In the silence between him and Laurens, Alex got to squint against the now definitely setting sunlight, press his notebook against his chest and shiver.  
  
It was pretty cold, but he didn’t particularly mind. He liked the cold; he liked how clean it made him feel, how it stung in his throat and lungs slightly with every breath, he liked how it turned his cheeks, and especially Laurens’ cheeks, rosy and beautiful.  
  
Thomas obviously did mind the cold. Even from multiple feet away, Alex could hear the Virginian complaining about how cold it was, and he was even more happy to be with John, quiet, pretty, still weirdly familiar John Laurens.  
  
  
Inside the gym, it was warm, a little hot even, bright, and it smelled like sweaty sports tricots. Alex’ classmates sat down on the lower benches of the gym’s stands; the rest was already occupied by people Alex had never seen before. They looked like college students, chattering, laughing. Most of them had notebooks with them just like Alex. He and Laurens sat down text to a couple of college students who didn’t pay them any mind.  
  
Laurens was fidgeting with the sleeves of his jacket, glancing at Alex every now and then while Alex flipped his notebook open and took a pen out of his pocket, starting to draw circles in a corner of the paper absently. After a while, the lights were dimmed a couple of notches and the crowd reluctantly fell silent when a guy with a grown-out haircut and a big smile stepped on the podium in front of the stands. He introduced himself as head of the student council of Princeton and greeted everyone, talking a little about Princeton’s poetry and fiction writing program, resulting in half-hearted applause and a couple of cheers from the college students as he stepped off the podium again, returning to his seat, and the poet took his place.  
  
He was in his twenties, not a lot older than they were, and he didn’t look like Alex had imagined him at all. He was tall, wearing a bomber jacket and ripped jeans like Laurens, and he was holding a handful of sheets of paper and didn’t really look at the audience when he started speaking.   
  
“I’ve written a poem about my wife,” he said quietly without introducing himself, “about her.” And then he started reciting, and it wasn’t like the poems they analyzed in class at all. It was short and precise, frankly reminding Alex a lot of what he used to write himself, and he liked it. He liked it a lot.  
  
When he finished, there was a second in which Alex wasn’t really sure if he had finished, but then, the people around them went wild, especially the college students. Alex glanced at Laurens, who was cheering, and Alex realized that he hadn’t taken any notes at all, but before he could really do anything about it, the poet raised his voice again.  
  
Throughout the poetry reading, Alex took very few notes, busy listening to the poet and staring at Laurens. He ended up not really catching as much of the reading as he wanted to, and in the end, he hadn’t even taken half a page of notes about it. He decided to just google the guy later, borrow Maria’s notes and half-ass his short essay about it; his teacher was only collecting a few of their essays anyway, and it probably wouldn’t be Alex’, since he’d been getting straight A’s since the start of the term.  
  
He glanced over at Laurens while the people around them went wild about the high school poem at the very end and the poet’s last bow; they jumped up and ran down to the podium and had the poet, who was chuckling, flustered and embarrassed, sign their programs and notepads.  
  
And frankly, Laurens looked confused. Confused and a little worked up. He looked like he had never heard poems like these, like the only poems he’d ever heard were the ones they showed you in class, the ones that clung to rhyme structure and word count and key words, and like he hadn’t know poems could be like this, too. That they could channel passion and frustration and heartbreak this well.  
  
His expression caused Alex’ heart to clench slightly. He looked at his knees, at the half empty notepad in his lap, and thought of hours spent reading John poems in the orchard. John asking him between sweet kisses to write him something. _Didn’t I actually write him some poems? How can it be that he’s forgotten that?_  
  
For a second, Alex asked himself how things would go if John was with him in Van Steuben’s advanced class. How things might go if he met John in class on Monday.  
  
Laurens’ confused voice interrupted his thoughts. He had taken his eyes off the crowd around the poet, and was frowning at Alex. “That last one wasn’t a poem,” he murmured, “The others were, but not that one. I mean-” he left off, shaking his head to himself slightly. Alex made a mental note to reread the high school poem in the program later, because frankly, he hadn’t thought about it too much  
  
Alex arched an eyebrow at him, finding himself smirking. “Then write a better one,” he said, and to his own ears, it sounded like an invitation.  
  
He really hoped Laurens heard it, too.  
  
  
On the ride back, they sat together again. It was dark by now; Van Steuben didn’t take the highway, and so Alex he and Laurens had a lot of time to stare out of the bus window at the streetlights and stars and fields in the dark.  
  
His classmates were a lot quieter than on the drive away from Albany. Everyone seemed a little sleepy and struck down with the mental exhaustion of the poetry reading. The two of them were mostly silent like they had been earlier, but this time, when Alex shifted, and their thighs brushed again, Laurens didn’t move, and Alex had to silently beg his heart to stop racing. Because honestly, even this tiny little bit of contact sent Alex soaring, and felt way too nice to move.  
  
Laurens was warm next to him, his breathing steady where he had his head leaned against the cool window, and Alex started to think he might have fallen asleep until Laurens lifted his head and frowned at him again. Alex noticed that, when he frowned, his nose scrunched up like it used to, making his freckled dance in the dark. Alex got lost in the sight, only catching half of Laurens’ sentence.  
  
“You can’t write poems about zits and your locker combination.” Even though there was a small, huffed laugh accompanying his words, he sounded genuinely upset, as if Alex had been arguing with him. Which obviously, Alex hadn’t been. _He’s probably just still thinking about the high school poem. Which I guess, makes sense in some way. He always did get caught up in his thoughts really easily._  
  
Alex thought about what he’d said a little before answering with a shrug and a crooked smile. “Maybe nobody told the poet that,” he muttered, causing John to laugh again. He had a nice laugh; it was loud and genuine. Laurens- John shifted in his seat, propped his shins up against the seat in front of them. Alex hear the girl from this afternoon make a disgruntled noise from her row. John leaned his back against the window and watched Alex fidget with his notebook.  
  
“So, what are you going to write about him tomorrow?” He sounded genuinely interested, which made Alex feel even more like an idiot for not managing to answer him properly. “I don’t know,” he admitted with a shrug, “I didn’t take a lot of notes, so I guess I’ll just make something up.”  
  
“Knowing you, you’ll probably get an A anyway, whatever you write,” John hummed, smiling surprisingly softly down at his crossed arms, and Alex stifled a small adoring sound, glad that in the dark, John probably couldn’t see him blush. There was a silence, and John looked up, meeting Alex’ eyes.  
  
And that was when something inside Alex’ chest just _snapped_. And suddenly, he was frowning and taking a breath.  
  
“Have you ever actually been to a poetry reading before?” he asked, and was caught off guard by how accusatory his voice sounded. It sounded like he was just shoving into John’s face that poems used to be their thing, that they used to write them for each other. Like he was shoving an apple orchard, hands tangled in hair and John’s head on Alex’ chest into his face.  
  
Alex bit his tongue as soon as he had finished the sentence, mentally shouting at himself for bringing it up, for possibly ruining this fragile, fragile but wonderful and strange afternoon, just because he was a cynical idiot who couldn’t let go of past things; things that had ended for various, _serious_ reasons.  
  
John was staring back at him out of wide eyes, that Alex knew all too well were a dark olive green. They glared at each other, agitated, accusatory, wide eyes battling each other, until John was the first to break away. He looked at his knees self-consciously and Alex knew it was over, knew that his comment had killed both their illusions of everything being okay.  
  
“I- no, I haven’t. Not really.” John added very quietly before drawing in a slow breath and continuing. “I mean. We usually just read the poems that Van Steuben brings. And that’s that.”  
  
“What would your class do if he did suggest going to poetry readings?” Alex murmured. Just to have something to say. He couldn’t hold back a weak snort when John replied: “Probably laugh a lot.” His voice was very quiet, and he was looking at his window reflection with an absent smile.  
  
They let the silence return, and Alex chewed on the inside of my cheek, let four street lights pass until he raised his voice again.  
  
“You should be in this class.” He whispered; saw John blink, stall, and then heard him scoff as he pulled his hood into his face, hiding behind it just like he did behind his cap this afternoon. He was obviously trying to get Alex to let it drop, but Alex wasn’t one to give up easily. “You’re as bright as anybody on this bus. Brighter than some,” he insisted and hated himself for thinking of Thomas and his other friends.  
  
They were rolling on through the night, and Alex stared at my lap stubbornly, feeling John’s eyes burning on the side of his face. He really was glad it was dark, so John couldn’t see the soft blush creeping up Alex’ neck. John’s eyes were wide as he took my sight in, wide and incredulous and olive green and full of awe. The way he was looking at Alex seemed so intimate, so familiar, and Alex’ heart skipped a beat, and he felt so stupid for it, blushing even more because he knew he shouldn’t feel like this, he shouldn’t feel this warm, this tingly with John watching him. He should be staying the fuck away from this guy. _Seriously, Alex, get a grip. He’s not a good person. He let you down. He exposed you and made you a target of something that you should have been facing together. And he hasn’t even apologized._  
  
A very, very small voice in the back of his head breathed that he didn’t care. He didn’t care what John had done to him. John was still so nice, so beautiful, made Alex feel so much. He didn’t want to let go of that comfortable kind of silence just yet, that silence that felt like home. He didn’t want to lose the warmth John left on his skin yet again.  
  
“How do you know I am?” John suddenly asked. His voice was still so very quiet, and Alex looked up laboriously, his jaw set. He met John’s gaze and pushed his chin forward.  
  
“You know how I know,” Alex managed, his throat sore, and John pressed his lips together, blinked, and leaned away again, facing the window.  
  
“Don’t say that,” he muttered. His voice was nothing but a whisper, and Alex rolled his eyes.  
  
“Would you rather have me deny it? Not talk about it at all?” Alex hissed. John glared back at him. “No,” he snapped, and then, let out a sharp, frustrated sound.  
  
Alex’s hand shot up, gripping his wrist. John flinched, turned around, narrowed eyes poring into Alex’. “Let me go, Hamilton.” He snarled, but Alex shook his head, trying to will away the heat boiling behind his eyes, threatening to spill over. “If I’m not supposed to bring it up, then what _do_ you want me to do, John? What should I do? Tell me!” In the end, his voice wasn’t even angry anymore, it was just desperate and sort of frantic, and John blinked, wrenched free of his weak grasp.  
  
“You didn’t have to do anything,” John explained lowly, “If you hadn’t sat down next to me, we wouldn’t be here arguing right now!”  
  
Alex let out a huff, trying hard to keep his voice down when he spoke again. “So you’d rather have me never talking to you again than confront it just once? And get it over with?” he hissed, and John let out an exasperated sigh.  
  
“What the fuck do you want me to say?”  
  
He was glaring at the window, his wide back towards Alex, and his reflection was wiping at its eyes furiously. And Alex felt his breath get stuck in his throat. A second passed in silence, then Alex let out a soft sigh. He reached out hesitatingly, placing his hand carefully on John’s shoulder. When John merely tensed a little, but didn’t pull away, Alex pulled down his hood and tugged at the front of his hoodie. It came off the shoulder, and Laurens pulled it back on without looking at Alex. Alex said his name. Said _Laurens_ , then _John_ , as quietly as he could.  
  
“What do you want me to say?” John gritted out again, and Alex sighed, pulled his hoodie closer around himself. Turned away, and pulled his short legs in, tucking them beneath his body. He crossed his arms and looked down, at the notebook in his lap that jumped a little with every bump of the road. The bus was quiet, and John was staring at him in the window.  
  
“Nothing. Just say nothing,” he muttered, and John turned around, dropped his head back against the headrest with a sigh. Looked down at the back of Alex’ head.  
  
“What do you want me to say?” he tried again. Alex shook his head and chased the pounding, the boiling behind his eyes away.  
  
“Figure it out, Laurens,” he hummed. John let out an exasperated noise, and Alex looked down at the notebook again, gritting his teeth. He wouldn’t cry; he wouldn’t allow himself to cry.  
  
Outside the window, the fields flew by, flecks of snow sitting alone in the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> Sahgdjashdgf hope you liked this? DEFINITELY let me know if you'd like to read more of this or if I'm wasting my time (I have a lot of concepts we'll find something you'll want to read lmao) please, I'm curious to hear from you!  
> Like literally, COMMENTS AND KUDOS RESTORE MY MENTAL HEALTH and also they keep me going and feedback is good and please I really missed you guys? ayyy
> 
> I'll hopefully see you around for a next chapter (of which I don't know when it will be up yet, just stay tuned or check my tumblr @nordpolkind for more info!)


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